Time Turned
by treasurehuntingforever
Summary: George Weasley goes looking for a way to change fate, and finds a Time-Turner.  He's going to try to alter destiny, and create a future in which his twin lives.  What will be the consequences of his actions?  Will he succeed?
1. Chapter 1

I look at myself in the mirror.

My icy blue eyes stare back as minutes become hours, and as I become more and more alone. Every second that passes is a second without him, and another second I don't know how to live.

I don't know what to do, so I look at myself, trying to will him back with my anger and my pain. My hatred for myself runs deep and eternal, and my love for him is the same. These emotions mirror each other, as we once did. One emotion is mangled and twisted and broken; hatred….George….me. The other is beautiful and sad and brilliant; love…Fred…the best part of me.

I have been brought to the sharp realization that we are two distinct beings. I always figured that we'd live together, or die together at the end of this battle. We'd fight together. We'd lie together beneath the earth. We'd hug our mother and dry her tears at the end of the war. Together.

And yet…

We – I - always thought that we'd be inseparable, for all our lives. It was a silly and strange assumption, because our bond was broken suddenly, almost effortlessly.

I look at myself in the mirror, and think of what he would have said. He would have told me to keep on living, inventing, and stirring up double the mischief and mayhem for him.

I think of the way he used to laugh, and his dry, bitter humor. I think of how I used to follow him around.

These are things most people didn't notice… how he was fierce and I was more restrained. How he'd jump into a fight and how I'd weigh the outcome. How I'd convinced him not to curse his own ear off, the same as mine. How I'd caught him crying in our joke shop. How he'd caught me tearing up in the kitchen of our flat. How he never did the dishes, and how he never did the laundry. How he secretly loved Christmas. And how he genuinely loved Angelina Johnson. These are the things nobody would ever know, because we were always Fred and George. One would never have to consider the possibility of living without the other, right? Being twins meant getting a best friend for life, someone to share everything with. Being twins meant never having to do anything alone.

I don't know how to live without the constant companionship, let alone living without my best friend.

So here I stand, bracing myself against the sink as I stare into the mirror. I wish desperately to turn back time, to rewind this war and change fate.

I can't stare at myself any longer, so I draw back my fist and smash it forcefully into the mirror.

I feel a dull pain as my fist collides with the mirror. I smash it to bits, searching for Fred in the bloodstained shards. All I see are bits of myself, winking out at me and taunting me.

Tears mix with the blood as I bury my head in my hands to muffle my sobs.


	2. Chapter 2

I stumble out of the bathroom and into the dusty hallway, wiping the blood off my hands and the tears from my face. I can't let them see me like this, Mum especially. She'd lose it. She's probably still crying in the Great Hall and arguing with Dad about moving the body.

I pace around the hallways, trying to ignore the painfully loud sound of Fred's death echoing in my head.

_He's dead, he's gone, how will you live? He's never coming back. You'll never joke again. You'll never laugh. You'll break your mother's heart every day. You'll die all over again each morning when you wake and remember it all over again. You're all alone. Alone. Alone. Forever. Fred. Is. Dead._

I walk faster and faster, through secret doors that I know like the back of my hand. I pace and pace and walk and walk without true purpose, until I arrive at the giant eagle. It is crumbled and broken on the ground, and twitching slightly. I step cautiously over it and walk up the marble staircase to Dumbledore's office. The door is unlocked, and for a split second I turn beside me to look for my brother. This action is instinct, habit. We would have laughed together at the possibilities of getting into Dumbledore's office, but we'd secretly be awed and thrilled. Pained by my slip-up, I turn the knob and slide soundlessly into the office. I'm not sure what I'm looking for in here, but this place… this powerful, brilliant, insane man's office seemed like the right place to look. _Look for what?_ No idea. I walk around the large, elegant office, flipping through old books and playing with some strange magical silver instruments.

Then it catches my eye. It's small and gold and shining and beautiful. The long chain winds around and through the other fragile items on the table. I know what this is, but I've only ever heard of them. A Time-Turner.

_A Time-Turner_.

I pick it up gently, it feels warm and soft in my bloodied hand. I bring it up to my face and stare hungrily at the delicate gold hourglass and the hoops twirling around it. _Yes._ This is it.

I'm going to forget everything I've ever heard about messing around with time…

I'm going to forget what my brothers would say…

I'm going to forget that he's dead…

Because I can change that with just a few turns of those delicate golden hoops.

I take a deep breath and start turning the hoops, not really knowing where to stop. Where does one life end and another begin? A life of laughter and unity becomes a life of pain and a torn consciousness. That was the point in time where I needed to go. To see how it happened; to stop it.

I stop turning, feeling that I've turned it enough. The hoops start spinning quickly in the opposite direction, and the tiny grains of sand in the bottom of the hourglass pull themselves upwards and into the other half. Faster and faster the hoops spin, until I feel a gentle pull and the ground shifts beneath me. I close my eyes and feel a light breeze tickle my face. When I open my eyes, I'm still in Dumbledore's office. I place the chain of the Time-Turner around my neck and step out of the office. Once I reach the base of the marble staircase, I see that the huge eagle has been restored to its former glory. I move out of the stairwell and into the corridor, and run right into a gloomy, black-clad figure with long greasy hair. Severus Snape.


	3. Chapter 3

I'd completely forgotten about Snape. In the loud silence of the aftermath, I'd completely forgotten. Going back in time to the Headmaster's office would mean going to Snape's office. How had I overlooked that one?

He stares at me in shock, his gaunt, ugly face twisted in confusion. He takes in my appearance, the crude cuts on my hands and my blood and tear-stained face. He looks at my ear, and his cold black eyes soften for a second. After all… he's the one who had cursed it off.

When he finally speaks, it is in a soft, broken, deadly voice. Somehow, his quiet voice has always been more powerful than a shout.

"What are you doing here, Weasley?" he asks me. I can sense the danger behind his question.

It takes me less than a second to decide what I need to do. I can't and won't explain what happened, but I can still show him. I close my eyes and feel his wand pressed against my chin.

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here." his voice is a nasty poison in my ears, and the smell of him is more than I can bear. I want nothing more than to smash his nose in and give him some shampoo, but I control myself.

I whisper, and realize that my voice sounds strange and unfamiliar to me. "I know about you. I know about Lily, I know about Voldemort and I know about Dumbledore. I know. See for yourself."

His shocked intake of breath is quickly masked when he mutters "_Legilimens!_"

I can feel his uncomfortable presence in my mind, and I try not to let it bother me. I let him walk around, sifting through my memories.

The first one is a memory from long ago… _I am in the Great Hall, singing the Hogwarts song with Fred. We use the tune of a funeral march. _

The second memory is quite different_. A blinding pain in my ear, and a blackness that invades my mind. "Snape, that sniveling little bastard" I hear Lupin yell._

Then comes the third memory he looks at, getting more and more precise. _I hear an explosion come from somewhere within the castle. _

The fourth_… I hold my dead brother in my arms._

The fifth… _I hear Harry telling Snape's story to Voldemort, and then the battle is won as the two foes fight for the last time. The elder wand spins up in the air, and Voldemort falls dead to the floor._

Then this memory fades as Snape sees another_. My fist smashes a mirror. _

The seventh and last memory that Snape sees is the Time-Turner spinning faster and faster as I move backwards in time.

I feel him leave my head, and collapse against the cold stone wall, exhausted.

The emotions that play across Snape's face are a strange mix of pity, regret and pride. The pity and regret were ones I'd never before seen him express. Then he composes himself quickly and sneers slightly as he speaks;

"You can't change fate, George Weasley. You think the rules do not apply to you? Many of us would like to go back, rewind destiny and save someone we loved. But we don't, because we understand the consequences." His eyes express a deep pain, and now I understand the regret that showed on his face a moment before. Lily Potter… he wished he could go back and save her. And yet again, the pain is gone from his eyes with a blink. He continues, "What does it say on your time turner, Weasley?"

I fumble with the gold trinket, flipping it around until I see something inscribed on the gold hoops. I read it aloud.

"_My use and value unto you are gauged by what you have to do. I mark the hours every one nor have I yet outrun the sun._"

"You can't change fate." Snape repeats, his voice dangerous once more. Before he can continue, my wand slashes through the air, and Snape falls unconscious to the floor.

"Fate is for prats," I whisper to his still, silent body as I step over it and run soundlessly through the Hogwarts corridors.


	4. Chapter 4

My aching feet hit the hard floor again and again and again, settling into an odd little rhythm. Right, push, left, leap, right, gasp, left… I've never run like this in my entire life. Running with purpose and not from the consequences of some prank. It feels strange.

_Where am I running? _

I keep up my pace as I think. I could run forever. More reasonably, I could run out of the Hogwarts grounds and apparate to the shop…

As I run past an empty classroom, I see that dawn is breaking on the deserted castle grounds. The color of the new morning sky is breathtaking, and reminds me of the dawns of our childhood at the Burrow. Each day had been bright and beautiful and new. Just like this one. A chance for change. Looking outside into the rising sun, I also realize that there isn't much time to catch Fred and I while we're still asleep and unsuspecting. I'd have the opportunity bewitch my past self and trade places... to try to convince Fred that he should sit this one out…

_Who am I kidding?_

The only time Fred had ever 'sat out a fight' was when the members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team held him back as Harry and I charged down Draco Malfoy. It had taken four people to restrain him.

I run down the enchanted stairs, jumping and sliding and tumbling as I create my plan and argue with myself. My thoughts are a jumbled assortment of grief and confusion and plotting. It's too much to sift through, but I have to. Somehow, I need to extract a plan from this mess in my mind. I shake my head to clear it as I dash out the doors to the castle.

And then I am surrounded. Billowing black cloaks and angry cries. Fingers outstretched towards me, wands drawn. The Death Eater Professors yell out and chase after me. Yet another thing I'd overlooked in my brilliance.

I dodge their curses and draw my wand, rolling off to the side and behind a Herbology greenhouse. The glass smashes into dust and drifts onto my shoulders as they throw curse after curse from their wands. I reach into my pocket and pull out my last firework, smiling manically.

_Why am I smiling?_

Because Fred would love this plan. This exact part of the plan. And just like that, the smile slides from my face like mud. Fred.

A shard of glass makes a shallow cut in my face and brings me out of my momentary shock. I light the firework with my wand and toss it over my shoulder. I watch it soar over the greenhouse and explode into thousands and thousands of golden lions. The exploding lions charge at the bewildered Death Eaters. I don't smile, but I find the strength to sprint towards the gate, shooting stunning spells over my shoulder and an assortment of strange jinxes. My feet hit the dewy grass and slide around some. I can't help but to feel helpless. This moment bears a shocking resemblance to a nightmare in which I cannot run fast enough. But this time, there's no waking up.

Miraculously, I reach the gate to the school without being captured. I clamber over it quickly, and without much grace, re-opening some of the wounds on my hands. The now blood-smeared gate disappears from my view once I land on the other side. Luck must be on my side, because I'm not followed. I don't see any of their ugly little faces coming at me, appearing from the spot where the gate is hidden from view. So I turn on the spot. A familiar pressure and squeezing sensation fill my head before I re-appear…not quite where I'd wanted to.

I'm shivering in the cold dawn air on the roof of our flat. I turn again and re-appear outside the double doors below. I twist the left doorknob three times to the left, then the right one once to the right. It's our secret protection, nothing fancy, but nothing anybody would expect. Keeps out Death Eaters and thieving hooligans alike. Although the thieving hooligans would most likely be myself and Fred.

Once inside, I push aside the card trick display to reveal the stairway up to the flat. I tiptoe up the steps, making sure to skip the creaky one, and the sinking one we'd put in for old time's sake. Once at the top, I waste no time. Since the flat is all one big room, save for the bathroom, I can immediately aim my wand at…my… sleeping figure and cast a weak stunning spell. Hopefully that lasts long enough.

Then I turn ever so slightly. I turn to look at Fred. Sound asleep in his bed. He doesn't have a clue what's going to…what could… happen to him today. I prepare to wake him, struggling to come up with the right thing to say. Nothing I think up sounds at all right or convincing. So I settle on improvising as I approach my twin's sleeping figure. I eagerly wait for the moment he'll open his eyes. I look forward to his usual morning grumpiness. I can't wait to talk to him.

I take a deep breath, and find that I can breathe easier here in this time, knowing that he's breathing, too.


	5. Chapter 5

I shake him gently. His shoulder is warm to the touch. He turns ever so slightly, then opens his eyes. Icy blue and warm like fire. Those are Fred's eyes, alive.

"George?" his confused voice is groggy. Lost music to my lost ear.

"Yes," I manage in a choked voice. "It's me."

"What happened to you…" He trails off as he peeks over at the cot beside him, and sees his sleeping twin. He draws his wand faster than I can blink.

"Who are you?" his voice is no longer confused. No longer groggy. It's sharp and aware.

"It's me, George!" I scour my memory quickly, trying to find one that only we would know. "When we were seven we stole Bill's wand and ended up accidentally setting Errol on fire," my voice is rushed and higher-pitched than usual, but Fred lowers his wand and grins.

"Is this a new invention?" he asks.

"Err… no. Come downstairs, I need to talk to you."

He follows me down the steps and into the shop, where he slides the Muggle display back into place. I brace myself for what's next.

"What happened to you?" he repeats his question from upstairs. I've no idea how to answer it.

"I'm… I'm George, but I'm from tomorrow." My voice sounds like a question as I wait for his reaction. So I pull the Time-Turner from my sweater as proof.

"That's not…"

"A Time-Turner."

"But _why_?" he asks another question I don't know how to answer.

"Because, Fred… because you die today." I choke on my own words as they spill from my mouth.

Fred chuckles slightly, then realizes that I am not kidding.

"You're serious?"

"Yes. Very. You were killed." I try not to lose my mind as I speak what I don't want to acknowledge. I rush on, "But we can change that! See, I came back to change it. It's simple, really. Don't go into the first floor corridor with the painting of the two sailors by the Great Hall. Avoid that area tonight and everything will be alright, as it should have been. "

"I don't understand… how am I killed?" Fred asks disbelievingly.

"There was an explosion… I don't know exactly how, because I… I wasn't there." I say this last part with great shame, casting my eyes down on the gleaming hardwood floor. "But I'll be there tonight. I swear it. I'll be there and I'll make sure you're safe."

Fred's eyes bore into my identical ones for a moment before he speaks. The tension in my stomach is unbearable as I wait. When he speaks, he speaks softly and slowly.

"What if something… happens? Because we interfered?"

"Like what?"

"I'm not sure… but aren't there consequences to this type of meddling?"

"What consequence could there be to saving your life?"

This time when Fred speaks, his voice is somewhat dangerous.

"You shouldn't have come here."

"How could I not?"

"Still… you shouldn't have. Let the chips fall where they may, Georgie."

"How can you say that?" I roar, suddenly losing my temper.

"Because, there are more important things in this war than one life! You _were _always the softer twin, after all. I don't believe in fate, but I do believe that the past should stay in the past." His eyes are fierce and unafraid. Although our eyes are identical in color, they have an uneven distribution of spirit.

"I can't let you die! I won't let you! How can you not want to save yourself? Are you really that selfish that you would rather 'leave things alone'…. Leave me all alone here?" I grab objects around me at random and hurl them. I grab a shelf and tip it over. I knock the Pygmy Puff cage over, which sets the animals squeaking something awful. I throw down the Muggle card trick display. I throw and throw all of our inventions until there's nothing left in arm's reach to harm, except the one thing I could never harm. Him. Fred stands calmly through my anger, which makes my blood boil. I want to grab him and shake some sense into him… beg him to see things the way that I do.

"You should leave."

"I should leave?"

"Yes… you should never have told me any of this." His voice is sad now, all fierceness suddenly vanished. I know him so well, and I know that sadness rarely shows in his voice. This frightens me more than anything.

"I had to… you would have done the same." My voice still has some fight in it, I'm not giving up that easily.

He smiles sadly and leans against a shelf of Headless Hats. "Yes, I suppose I would have. But that doesn't make it right. So you should leave."

"I _will_ save you, weather you want me to or not."

"It's not a question of weather or not I _want_ you to, because of course I don't want to die. It's a question of weather or not you _should_."

"That's a stupid thing to say. Completely mental…"

"You know, you've ruined a perfectly good day with all this nonsense. I might just have to give… Present Georgie a little smack on the head this morning." And with that Fred grins and whispers, "Think fast!"

He sends something sailing through the air towards me, and I catch it reflexively.

Then, without having time to blink, I am standing in the middle of a field. One-way Portkey. Our most recent invention. I toss the random useless object to the floor and let out an angry, exasperated groan, and apparate quickly back to the shop.

Once standing on the cobblestone road of Diagon Alley, I walk briskly towards the shop door, only to find myself walking in a different direction.

_Protection charms!_

I grab a sickle from my jeans pocket and hurl it at the shop, and see it spiral away and hear the soft, tinkling sound of it landing a few feet behind me. I look up at the little window to the flat, and see a figure move. I quickly cast a spell, hoping desperately for it to work.

_Yes!_

I can hear what's going on in the flat. I can hear the shuffling of feet, then someone being smacked with a pillow. Then come our voices. My voice first, one of protest and sleepiness.

_What was that for?_

_For being a prat._

_And why am I a prat?_

_Because._

_I see._

_One day, you'll remember this conversation._

_Will I?_

_Yes, you will. _

_And I'll think to myself-_

_-Fred's quite brilliant…_

_Or 'Fred's quite annoying.'_

_I don't think you'll think that._

_No?_

_No._

_Well then, let's start this wondrous day with a bang, shall we?_

And with those last words, I see fireworks light the window, and hear the sounds of identical laughter. I lift the spell. I've heard enough. Fred is right about one thing. I'm going to remember that conversation. I already do… I remember that exact conversation taking place the morning of the battle.


	6. Chapter 6

In the back of my mind, I'd half expected that reaction from him. Fred has always thought that way… he doesn't buy into the predetermined fate business, but he definitely doesn't agree with messing around large-scale events. He walks a dangerous line in that respect. But I've always believed that we can alter our lives in whatever way we choose. We used to talk about this. In secret, for hours. And I don't think that anyone ever suspected there to be a serious bone in our bodies.

I wander about Diagon Alley, and my thoughts keep racing back to the conversation that I remember, and that I desperately wish I didn't. Fred's smiling face is flashing painfully before my eyes. I can see the way his lips twitch up and the gleam of his teeth. I can see the bittersweet light in his eyes. I can count hundreds of differences in the way we smile. But I won't, because it hurts too much. There's an ache in my chest that deepens every time I think of him. It's been ever-increasing, for hours.

I shift my focus to the way my feet hit the cobblestone, and the people around me. I focus my attention on the few remaining shops; Madame Malkin's robe shop is still open, as is the owl emporium and the apothecary. Another small shop catches my eye; the grimy window is gleaming with crystals and I can smell the incense. I bring myself to a standstill directly in front of it, and find it exceptionally odd that I'd never taken notice of it before. People are pushing around me on the alley, heads down, wands drawn, in a hurry. I hear some exclamations; "Really!" and "Get a move on, ginger!".

Then I see her… standing hunchback in the tiny shop, sporting a ridiculously colored shawl and some heavy Divination volume. Professor Trelawney.

I remind myself that most of what she says is complete rubbish… But then I can't help thinking… she_ has_ made accurate predictions in the past… and quite honestly I'm a man with nothing left to lose…

I take one cautious step forward, and accidentally trip some poor seven-year-old. After apologizing repeatedly and awkwardly to the parents, I clamber hastily up the front steps and into the tiny space. A bell tinkles softly as I walk in, and the smell of burning incense washes over me like a tidal wave, burying me in fragrance.

I can hardly think.

But I make my way over to Trelawney, sidling past teetering piles of books and precariously perched crystal balls. I notice that she's the only one in the shop, and can't help but wonder where the shopkeeper is. As I approach her, I can smell the cooking sherry she'd obviously had for breakfast, and a small sentiment of pity manages to push its way to the front of my mind.

"Excuse me, Professor…" my hoarse voice croaks. She jumps, pulling her shawl tightly around her shoulders and dropping the heavy, dusty book. I stoop to pick it up, but before I can give it back to her, she grabs my arms fiercely.

"Professor?" I look at her eyes behind the thick lenses of her glasses, and notice that they have gone quite misty and distant. Perhaps a by-product of the cooking sherry?

She speaks, and that's when I know it isn't the cooking sherry. Her voice sounds as if it were a thousand different ones, soft and subtle and whispering. Her grip on my arm stays firm as she goes into her trance, and speaks the words that can change everything.

"_There was one where two once were_

_But then again rewound makes fate unbound_

_And on this night there shall be three_

_One shall perish and another be the cause_

_The third shall mourn all there ever was_

_To undo this dreaded fate_

_One must advance twofold count eight_

_Then incapacitate these;_

_Stone and Branch_

_And a Prince of blood half_

_To be together at long last_

_Though time turned will never allow_

_This entire fate undone in such haste_

_For time rewound twice binds fate in place"_

Trelawney stands there, gasping for air, and her grip on my arm becomes feeble. Her eyes regain focus and she stares at my slack-jawed amazement.

_A prophecy! Something so rare! The fates are re-aligning in my favor!_

My thoughts race faster than I can collect them, so I stand there a moment, slack-jawed, staring at the wasting prophet in front of me. I know she doesn't remember anything she just said, I know this… and yet I still kiss her on her wrinkled cheek before I dash out the door of the shop, knocking books and crystal balls everywhere.

I dare to think of Fred now. I break down the barriers I've put up in my mind that block him out. I can save him! I recite the prophecy to myself again and again as I sprint down Diagon Alley, turning the words over in my head. _ "Stone and Branch and a Pince of blood half…"_

_I will figure this out. I will save Fred. I will live happily ever after._

I want to skip for joy at this new word. _Will._

And another word. _We._

_We will_ live happily ever after.

The Time-Turner that hangs around my neck bounces against my chest as I run, a constant reminder of the fact that I now hold our ultimate fate in my sweaty hands.


	7. Chapter 7

I sit in the Leaky Cauldron, immersed in thought and staring into my nearly empty glass of Firewhiskey, swirling the few remaining drops in circles.

"_There was one where two once were"… that's obviously referring to Fred's… death… and "advance twofold count eight"… I reckon that's referring to time… advance by… two times eight is sixteen… Go forward sixteen hours? Yes, that makes sense, that's right around the middle of the battle… and incapacitate "Stone and Branch"… Stone...stone…stone… rock? Rock? And branch…branch… Twig? Tree? Branch… Wood? Rock and tree? Rock and wood? Rock and wood! Rockwood! He's the one who caused the explosion that… well… I need to get rid of Rockwood! How could I not have seen that? And "a Prince"… a half-blood… the Half-Blood Prince, who Harry had told us, was Sniveling Snape. Alright… so get rid of Rockwood and Snape and Fred lives? _

My rampant train of thought is coming to a close, and I can see now, with blinding clarity, what must be done. I need to keep Rockwood from causing the explosion, and somehow get rid of Snape. _Why Snape, though?_ I think to myself. _How had he caused my twin's demise?_ I pass over this thought with an aching heart – thinking of his death remains too painful… too incomprehensible. Another bit of the prophecy interrupts my silent agony, and my spiraling thoughts rage on;

"_To be together at long last"… yes, surely that's what it means. But then, "Time rewound twice binds fate in place"… maybe that means that I shouldn't go back a second time? Going back a second time will seal our fates? _

I dismiss these thoughts as well, deciding to worry about them later. I stare into the bottom of my glass, and see my distorted amber reflection in the last swallow of Firewhiskey. I down it quickly, and throw a few sickles onto the darkly stained oak table. As I leave the bar, I can see a few wizards staring at me, and I remember what I must look like. So I scurry off into the bathroom by the entrance to the Muggle streets of London that wait outside.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror as I enter the bathroom, and try to avoid my own gaze. It's a strange game I play, when I look at myself in the mirror. I can see the guilt in my reflection; the guilt I don't want to face. It makes it harder to think about how tonight will play out. I can't afford to lose, because the price would be his life.

I walk over to the sink to distract myself and splash some water onto my face. I dare myself to look into the mirror again, and see the droplets of clear liquid trickling down my stubbly, dirty, hacked up face. The sting in my still-fresh wounds is only skin deep, and I feel a fresh wave of guilt for acknowledging the pain. My eyes meet their mirror image in the reflection, and I stare at myself._ I won't smash this mirror,_ I tell myself._ I need it. _I need it to remind myself exactly what could be lost.

Earlier, I was ecstatic at the good news the prophecy had brought. Now, looking back, I can see that I sit on the cusp of disaster and devotion, of laughter and death. This can't be taken lightly, as much as it is in my nature to do so… I can't laugh this one off and play the hero at the end of the day. I can't crack a joke that will make the sun brighten the rainiest of days. Not without him, my other half, myself. I'm back to square one, hating myself for losing him.

I shake my head and splash more cold water on my face and get to cleaning the wounds on my face and hands, not daring to use magic. Because I deserve these markings; I need them the same way I need to stare in the mirror. These cuts scream _"George Weasley, the twinless twin, the earless prankster, the guilty survivor."_ … the things I need to remember. When I'm done washing, I peel off my bloody, sweaty jumper and throw it in the grimy waste bin in the corner, revealing my brown T-shirt and pale, freckled arms. A huge yellow "F" is emblazoned on the front of the shirt, hiding behind the golden Time-Turner, and I can't ignore the lump forming in my throat, and the way my breath catches.

Another secret joke.

Gred and Forge.

I stand tall in front of the cruel mirror and tuck the Time-Turner away beneath my shirt, feeling the cold metal rest against my skin. I push my wand further into my jeans pocket and out of sight, dry my face, flatten my flaming red hair, and blink my blue eyes once. I leave the bathroom, and the pub. I walk out into the cold morning air, leaving George Weasley behind me.

I am Forge, Fred Weasley's guardian angel, an everlasting part of him. Intertwined forever. A memory flashes before my eyes…_Fred and I are running through a forest. I yell for him to wait up, but he keeps running, out of my reach, out of sight. I am young and afraid. I am a coward. My bottom lip trembles as I try not to cry. My eyes dart around the forest, searching for that too-familiar face. He comes running back, grinning and reassuring. The whole point of my being is the waiting. Waiting for him to come back._

I blink tears from my eyes as my lips turn up in a strange sort of smile. This uninvited memory has given me an idea….I walk down an alley, roll behind a dumpster, clutch my wand and turn on the spot.

I am standing in the forest near the Burrow, where we had played as children, hid from chores as youths, and occasionally came to invent as adults. I lean against a nearby tree, taking in the familiar scent of this forest, and think of exactly how I am going to find that bastard Rockwood.

Alone with my thoughts.

Alone.


	8. Chapter 8

I remember something Dad had said months ago…

_Augustus Rockwood… works in the Department of Mysteries… his position was returned to him when Voldemort came into power…_

I open my eyes to the stark, fluid beauty of the living forest, and Dad's voice fades from my mind.

The Department of Mysteries. Rockwood is an Unspeakable. _ Ha! _Although there is nothing humorous about this, I feel like laughing. How could someone so evil work in such an important place? All along, he'd been passing information to dear old Voldy. The bitter laughter echoing inside my head is maniacal, and I can feel the rage boiling my blood. This evil excuse for a man had been trusted with keeping the wizarding world's most important secrets for years, by Fudge. Cornelius Fudge… I'd have to return the favor some day to him as well.

_Get a hold of yourself, George,_ I scold myself_. Now isn't the time… Rockwood. Find Rockwood._

Getting into the Ministry is going to be tricky. My blood-traitor self would probably get arrested for setting foot in there. And there's no time for a polyjuice potion… maybe an Invisibility Cloak! Not just any old cloak, though… it would have to be a good one... One like Harry's! Maybe I can borrow his cloak for an hour or two… I'm sure he won't mind…

I think back to where he was the morning of he battle… something about a dragon. After they had broken into Gringotts, Harry, Ron and Hermione had stolen a dragon and… they had never said where they landed. Only that it was far. So maybe the Cloak is out of the question… unless… I look down at my watch and grin. There's still time. They haven't broken into Gringotts yet… They must still be at Bill and Fleur's! If I can catch them before they go… just take the cloak and rewind back for a few hours, and make sure I'm back at Shell Cottage in time to return it!

I grin at my plan, and push myself off the tree I'm leaning on, and dust bits of bark off my back. I draw my wand, squeeze my eyes shut and turn on the spot, regrettably leaving the forest of my childhood behind.

Now I can smell the salty ocean air as it blows around my face. I can hear the peaceful sound of the waves washing up on the shore. Opening my eyes, I can see Shell Cottage. I creep over silently to the windows on the east side and peek in each of them. I see Griphook in one, Ollivander in another, and Ron and Hermione in the third. Hermione is seated on the floor with Ron, and they are holding hands. _About damn time!_ I can't help thinking.

Then I see it. The Cloak. Draped over the sofa. Now would be a fantastic time to have a Decoy Detonator… but, lacking one, I settle on making a bookshelf fall over in the living room, sending Ron and Hermione running out to see what happened. I slide the window open, and try summoning the Cloak, with no success. So I squeeze through the narrow window, reach down and grab the rich, fluid fabric. Immediately after wiggling back out, I throw the cloak over myself and pull out the Time-Turner. I turn the hoops back twice, and watch as they start spinning and the sand starts falling upwards in the tiny hourglass. The sand-covered grass tilts beneath my feet, and I fall back into into the bittersweet dawn of hours past.

I tuck the tiny device away in my shirt and turn on the spot, for what feels like the thousandth time today. The uncomfortable squeezing sensation and breathlessness lasts a split second, and then I am standing outside what appeared to be a grimy Muggle bathroom, in a very dirty, dingy hallway with flickering, dust-covered lights. I'd taken this route with Dad once before, and now, with Voldemort in control, the toilets are the only way into the Ministry. In other circumstances, I think I would have laughed at the irony. A bunch of Death Eaters, jumping through toilet bowls to get to their offices.

A tall man sporting a green cloak and greasy brown hair walks past me into the bathroom, narrowly avoiding stepping on my concealed foot. I follow him closely into the bathroom, and watch as he pulls out his wand and taps a stall door twice. It swings open with a noisy protest from the rusty hinges, and the man steps inside. The stall door swings shut behind us, almost catching the Cloak. I follow him closely, wondering at my good fortune. I'd figured it would have been a while before someone came along – after all, it's barely dawn.

Suddenly, the man leaps up onto the toilet seat, and flushes himself down into the Ministry. I leap in before his head had even disappeared, and I can hear his confused grumble through the gurgling water. Suddenly, we land in the pit of a fireplace on the first floor of the Ministry. Rather, he lands on the floor, and I land on him. I quickly whip out my wand and aim it at his head of greasy hair, muttering _Confundus _under my breath. I clamber off his stirring body and run towards the elevators, undetected. I notice a portly old man with white curly hair getting into an elevator, and I dash in after him. I recognize him from the Quidditch World Cup, though his name escapes my memory. Dad said he suspected him to be an Unspeakable. Sure enough, the man presses the "9" button, and the doors slide closed.

The elevator is terribly silent, and I try to breathe silently, with much difficulty. I clamp my mouth shut, and let the air flow in and out through my nose. Once we reach the end of our eight-story drop, I follow the man out of the elevator. He doesn't seem to notice my presence, and I want to thank him a thousand times for his spectacular ignorance.

He turns left down the second corridor, straight towards the door to the Department. When we arrive at the door, he flourishes his wand, muttering an incantation. The door swings open without a sound. He walks in, and I barely make it in before the huge, heavy door closes.

The Department of Mysteries, at last.

I draw my wand.

_Come out, come out, Rockwood. Come out, come out and play!_


	9. Author's Note

Authors Note:

First of all: Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it!

Now…for the purpose of the story, I've changed Rookwood to Rockwood. I always thought Rookwood was a weird name… so, yeah. It fit in better with the Prophecy, too.

Concerning the rest of the story… I figured I should make and AN about this, because it's going to be weird... The perspectives are going to shift around a bit for the purpose of storytelling. It's still going to be mostly first person George, but a few chapters might be written from other character's perspectives. I'll make a little note of whose perspective it is for the chapters that aren't George.

With regards to George's actions thus far… they might not make sense, because his thought process is a bit messed up. I'm not writing this directly into the story, but he's kind of been slowly losing his mind, pushing back the pain of losing his twin. So he wouldn't normally think "let's go steal Harry's cloak and break into the Department of Mysteries because Rockwood might be there!". His thought process might appear logical to him, but it is very rushed and there are gaps with missing details, because there is a huge undercurrent of thought about Fred and trying _not_ to think about Fred. It's all very overwhelming to George, so he jumps to conclusions and doesn't actually think very logically anymore.

Anyways, I think this might be turning into a very complicated story, so thank you for bearing with this weird story and my weird writing!


	10. Chapter 9

Once I begin to see the room, _truly_ see it, I find it impossible to look away. There are no words to describe this place. I finally understand why they call it the "Department of Mysteries", not the "Department of Secrets", or any other ill-fitted name. Everything is a mystery. Colors are strange and unnamed in here as I stare around in wonder. Shadows swirl out into the light, taking unknowable forms before my eyes. With a herculean effort, I manage to pry my unbelieving eyes away from the scene unfolding before them, and find that the little man I followed in here has disappeared.

The room I am standing in appears to be circular...or spherical. Or anything, really. It is somehow continuous; an echo of forever, engraved here in the magical world. There are identical doors all around me, and I know that I shouldn't check every one without knowing if Rockwood truly lies beyond. I place my wand flat in my outstretched palm, and whisper, thinking of Rockwood and sweet revenge - _point me! _The wand spins to the left, then to the right, and then quivers before it points to the second door to my left. I scurry towards it, but the floor begins to rotate unexpectedly and I lose my balance. My knees hit the floor with a loud cracking noise that is muffled by my swearing. I scramble back up into a standing position and realize that I don't know which door is which anymore. Seemingly out of options, I fix my eyes on a one at random and make my way towards it. I place my hand on the doorknob, holding my breath.

It turns under my outstretched hand, and I push it open cautiously. I can see tiny planets in the distance, and stride towards them with ease, until I notice that they aren't getting any closer. I point my wand into the distance and silently shoot a ball of light towards the planets. The light gets smaller and smaller as it approaches the planets, before hovering near a Saturn-looking planet. I shake my head, puzzled, and turn to go back into the rotating room, when I hear a voice. It is a grotesque, scratchy voice,"Who's there? Show yourself! Croaker? Is that you?"

Rockwood. I wonder at my luck… What are the chances? The man I am looking for just happens to be in the random room I choose to enter...

I sprint towards the planets at full speed, and still they don't get any closer. My feet hit the starry ground, one in front of the other, and I am moving and going nowhere at the same time. Then I see a figure appear in front of the planets. He appears to hear my noisy footfalls, and Rockwood makes his way over to me, growing bigger and more life-size with every step. Suddenly, he sprints forwards and I leap backwards. _Accio Cloak!_ He cries, and the incantation sounds almost like a question in the infinity of this room. I grab hold of the Cloak and feel my heart skip a beat, but the Cloak does not move. A short, humorless laugh escapes my shocked lips, and his wand flashes through my air, synchronized with mine as I block his curse. We duel silently; I cast all spells and curses non-verbally to avoid giving away my location. I am slow at dodging the curses he sends flying at me, partially because of my earless imbalance.

In one brilliant stroke of thought and memory, I remember one curse I can use… one curse he might not expect, or know how to block. I can feel my face contort in a cruel smile and I cry out _Sectumsempra!,_ slashing my wand through the air. I feel a slight itch where my ear used to when I use the curse, but I ignore it, wishing only to inflict as much pain as possible. I watch from beneath the Invisibility Cloak as he crumples to the floor, twitching and moaning in agony.

I repeat the curse again and again, so many time I lose count.

_Slash! _

_Flesh rips. _

_Rockwood begs for his cowardly life. _

_I don't speak, aside from screaming the incantation._

_I let him wonder at the darkness in agony._

_Wonder who is out there, killing him._

_The same way Fred had probably wondered._

_My fallen twin had never known what had happened._

_He never saw it coming._

_This is what his murderer deserves._

_Rockwood twitches one last time before he goes still and his cries cease._

I fall to the ground, panting as tears stream down my face. Tears of grief and joy and shock wind down my cheeks and drip onto my bent knees. More painful memories cascade into the depths of my weakened consciousness. And I'm not even sure that some of them are real…

_I see Fred, he is smiling at me. Right after we had invented the Extendable Ears. His eyes are dancing with a bright fire, and I know that this fire will never go out. _

_I see Fred, he is frowning at me. Right after I had insisted on him not cursing his own ear off. His eyes are burning brightly with a fiery anger, anger not directed at me, but at Severus Snape. Somehow, I know that the fiery anger cast in those paradoxical icy blue depths will never die_.

_Then, I see Fred a third time, and he is crying for me. Right after he died. He watches me tear the mirror apart. His eyes burn with understanding. "I know you would have taken my place in a second. Don't blame yourself. I know. You're my brother. Now quit crying like a girl and _get on with it!_" He chuckles, and I know that he will always understand. His wish for my happiness confuses me, because deep down, I know I don't deserve it._

I breathe deeply and wipe the pitiful tears from my face. I push myself up off the ground, wondering if I am going crazy. Tightening my grip on my wand and digging my dirty fingernails into the worn-down willow of it, I turn towards the door. I don't look back. I don't look back at the grotesque pool of blood that is seeping onto the twinkling stars of the Planet Room.

As I walk out into the Rotating Room, my head echoes with the aftermath of what I've just done. I bury what I've just done behind the fact that I'm that much closer to saving him. I just need to find Snape. And then all will be well.

Standing in the strange room of identical doors, I realize that I have no idea which door leads to the exit. So I walk towards the third door on my right, hoping for another lucky strike, and find that there's no way in. The doorknob pops back inside the door as I approach it. I groan and pound my fist on the door in resignation. Much to my surprise, my fist falls through it.

Cautiously, I step forwards and through the door. For an instant, I float in a peacefully, painfully painless world of memories. Self-sacrificing love encompasses me in a poisonous caress. I can feel the riptide of love wash me ashore onto a beach of pain and pity and powerful powerlessness.

The world shifts beneath my feet.

I know now that if I were to look into the Mirror of Erised, that I would see Fred and I, standing together at the peak of our youthful mischief.

I know now that if I were to come across a Boggart, that I would see Fred dead at my feet, with that sinister laugh forever etched upon his face.

In the painstakingly quiet bliss of whatever mystery room I am in, I forget everything that isn't Fred.

Hours sneak by disguised as minutes, and the long-forgotten Time-Turner clings to my chest.

Sand grains fall to the beat of my hourglass heart.

To the beat of _our_ hourglass hearts.


	11. Chapter 10

**Harry Potter POV**

"Ron, have you seen my Cloak?" I ask, trying not to sound too panicked.

"Er… it was just over there a moment ago. On the chair," Ron's voice is unsure, and I can tell that he is also attempting to sound calm.

"It isn't here…"

"Did you check the bag?" Hermione's voice comes from the door, small yet strong.

I snatch the bag up from the bedside table and rummage through it, coming up empty handed.

"No luck, mate?" Ron asks.

"None."

"Ah well, I'm sure it'll turn up somewhere." Ron says bracingly.

Hermione is kind enough to remind us of what we all know; "We've only got a half-hour before we need to leave, Ronald!"

**Bill Weasley POV**

I rummage about in the old, battered magical trunk, searching for the Invisibility Cloak given to me by Mad-Eye. The undetectable Extension Charm is rather inconvenient at a time like this, so I whip out my wand with my grizzled, scarred hand and summon it. The Cloak flies out from underneath a heavy set of books and into my outstretched arms. With a resigned sigh, I push myself up off my knees and walk out onto the beach and towards the four expectant figures_._

_I can't believe Harry 'misplaced' his Invisibility Cloak!_ I think to myself, shaking my head.

As I approach them, Hermione's disguise as Bellatrix throws me off for a moment; my hand twitches towards my wand, my brow furrows and my lips pull up into a sort of feral snarl_. I got that from Greyback,_ I think grimly and bitterly.

Harry strides towards me now, relief and thankfulness washing over his face like the tide not ten feet from us. He takes the Cloak from me and opens his mouth to thank me.

"No need, Harry. Just don't lose this one," I wink at him, pat his shoulder, and wish them good luck in whatever they were doing. I haven't the faintest idea what the three of them are up to, and why they need Griphook,. I don't really want to think about it too much. My eighteen year old baby brother, dashing off with his best friends (one disguised as the woman who had just finished torturing her) and a goblin.

I smile waveringly at Ron and Hermione, nod my respect to Griphook, and turn back towards the house. I turn to look over my shoulder, and see the three of them vanish in a blur, leaving an omnipresent sense of danger hanging in the salty air behind them.

**Lord Voldemort POV**

_The shift of a soul, the slither of a snake belly on the grass, the slash of a sword._

_A man falls bloody to the ground._

_I feel that subtle itch on my skin. One of my soldiers has fallen._

_I close my eyes and travel to the person who has failed me. A fallen Death Eater is a failed Death Eater, another soul who has abandoned me._

_He lies in the Department of Mysteries. I know who this is. The mutilated body on the floor has gone cold, but the pallid, blood-drained face is the man who was Augustus Rockwood. The clean, deep gashes all over his body stand out against his still-greasy white skin. His pathetic human hair is soaked with his blood, betraying his mortality to my keen eyes._

_I pass my spidery, masterful hand through the air, wand poised between the long, thin fingers. I feel the echo of the curse that killed this mortal at my feet._

_Sectumsempra._

_A curse used only by Severus Snape._

_I have been awaiting this moment for years. Awaiting evidence of his betrayal. For years, Snape has shown an allegiance to the great Muggle-lover, Dumbledore. For years, I have watched him as he carried out everything I ever asked of him, and I always searched for any evidence of his betrayal. And Severus Snape has always been a superior Occlumens… _

_I look down at Rockwood's gory remains on the starry floor, and narrow my snake-like eyes in disgust at his mortality._

_I gather my robes around me and vanish in a cloud of smoke, up into the skies of London. I fly out of the sickening, Muggle-ridden city, and towards Hogwards. Towards home._

_My speed increases with my determination and my pulsing anger. I fly past clouds and rays of sun, casting a gloom on the ground below me. Shadows gather and erase the sunlight. The countryside grows cold and dark. I see the distinguishable magic of Hogwarts looming in the distance, awaiting me. I, Lord Voldemort, the only being since the great Salazar Slytherin worthy of walking the corridors and experiencing the magic. The crackling magic becomes tangible in the cool dawn air as I fly over the gate. _

_I see a cluster of black-clad figures running towards the gate as I cross over into the grounds, and I seal it shut. Nobody will escape Hogwarts. Nobody will escape my wrath, my anger at this betrayal. Severus Snape, servant of Dumbledore will pay. But first, I must be sure. As I hurtle towards the windows to the Headmaster' study, I delve into his minds with a deep, piercing rage. Oddly, I cannot sense his resistance. I tear his mind apart easily. I ransack it, going through memory after memory in search of a betrayal. I have never searched his mind like this before. He is obviously unconscious and defenseless._

_I can see, through his eyes, a beautiful red-headed girl. A mudblood. Scum. She laughs and he smiles back. His love is so sickeningly weak. So human. _

_I can see, through his eyes, his all of his most private conversations with Albus Dumbledore. The weak old man assures him that everything will be fine. _

_His ancient voice proclaims; "Voldemort will never know. You are superbly skilled at Occlumency, and with my assistance, I daresay he will never know whose side you are fighting for. He will never know where your allegiance truly lies. We'll protect Lily Evans in every way we can…"_

_I want to shriek in mirth and in rage at the new discovery. _

_He can't hide in plain sight any longer. He can't undo what I have seen._

_I fly through the walls of the school in a cloud of black magic and smoke. _

_The Headmaster's study is empty. I feel my naked feet touch the cold stone, and I smell the air. I can smell him. I walk my deathly walk down the staircase and out past the giant eagle. Severus Snape is picking himself up off the ground. He looks at me, his unsurprised eyes filled with trepidation. _

_His eyes betray everything now._

_Those black orbs hold so much more human weakness than I had ever anticipated._

_Love. The word makes me sick. I can see it in his eyes now. His love for the mudblood._

_Severus Snape knows what is about to happen to him_

_He sees my wand flash through the air._

_The jet of green light flies towards his face, and he falls to the ground._

_He lies still and dead on the floor._

_But his death has not erased the love in his open eyes. _


	12. Chapter 11

**George Weasley POV**

It's been hours. HOURS!

I stare in horror at the scene before me. It could be a picture from a fairy-tale book, but for me it's a nightmare.

I am standing on the beach at Shell Cottage, under a midnight blue sky with the peacefully foamy seawater lapping melodically at my dirty feet. I stare at the crescent moon with a furrowed brow, an overwhelmed mind, and eyes brimming with tears. _What have I done?_

I ask myself this question and it tears at my heart. It tears me apart inside. There is a feeling in my gut like I've just fallen off a broom in a Quidditch game. My head feels like it's been hit with a Bludger. And my soul. It's been torn in two.

_What have I done? _

I've missed it. I have no idea what to do now. I never got the Cloak back to Harry. I have no idea what has happened. The war must be raging in Hogwarts, but I am powerless, stuck here on this beach.

I had knocked on the door of an empty Shell Cottage, and then I had snuck in a window. I called out for Bill and Fleur. The only sound that answered me was the sound of my own wretched breathing.

_What have I done?_

This seems to be an empty planet. As soon as I had apparated back to Shell Cottage, I saw my wand turn to dust in my hand. It scattered like the ashes of a beloved friend in the wind.

This is what I have done.

I have destroyed everything. That bloody room! I want to scream out in agony, but there is no point. I'm the only person here to hear it. So I scream at myself in the walls of my own head.

It's been hours.

_What have I done?_

A silvery translucent figure approaches from the distance. A familiar figure. A lightning scar stands out above a set of round glasses and eyes that should be green.

**Harry Potter POV**

We'd done it! We'd broken into Gringotts _and _gotten back out with what we needed. The weight of Hufflepuff's cup in my pocket assures me of our success, and of this huge step closer to Voldemort's demise. The glory of this victory is dampened by our hasty need to apparate to Hogsmeade, however, and the elated feeling in my chest vanishes as I grasp firmly onto my two closest friend's hands as we transport ourselves under this new Cloak to Hogsmeade village. The glory is left on the lakeside with the dragon we flew in on.

As I blink around at the village in the darkness I sense the dangerous quiet. And suddenly, we are surrounded. Death Eaters everywhere, their silver-masked faces glimmering in the moonlight. They argue in terrified undertones about who might be out and about. And then come the Dementors. They close in on us with an icy presence, and it feels as if I'm back in the freezing water, being drowned and strangled by that piece of Voldemort's soul.

Seven Dementors approach us, their ratty cloaks sweeping the ground with a mute whisper. I can hear my mother screaming, and my father yelling.

But then, I feel Ron's shoulder brush my own, and feel Hermione's panicked breath on my cheek. Their presence reminds me of happiness, the only happiness I've ever known, and I whip my wand out in the icy night air. _Expecto Patronum!_

The familiar words dart from my mouth, accompanied by an enormous silvery stag. It charges down the Dementors before my mother draws breath for another scream, and the world is put right again, with my two best friends rooted firmly beside me.

"It's Potter! That was a stag! It's Potter I tell you!" a Death Eater cries.

"Get him!" another one screams.

"Under your Cloak?" a more intelligent one realizes.

"_Accio Cloak!_" The dreaded incantation comes from a fourth voice, and I make a desperate attempt to grab onto the Cloak as it flies out from beneath my fingers.

"RUN!" I roar at Ron and Hermione, and we charge together through the streets of Hogsmeade. We run, chests heaving, hearts pounding. We run for not only our lives, but for the lives of so many others. This is so much bigger than us. I vividly remember Ron telling me something very similar when I was about to leave the Burrow on my own. The memory vanishes when I feel a curse hit behind my ankles. The flash of red light that plays across my glasses makes me pick up my speed, the cup banging back and forth in my pocket with my stride.

Then it happens.

Hermione crumples to the ground behind me in a flash of green. The worst color in the world. I stop in my tracks.

Time seems to be frozen for a few excruciating moments.

I see Ron's face contort in disbelief, anger, pain, shock and a million other nameless emotions.

I see Hermione's lifeless hand clutching her vine wand. My eyes dare to travel up to her face. Eyes wide open. Her lips are parted, as if to say "oh".

Then, the moment is over. Time resumes before I am ready. I see Ron charge at the Death Eaters, and we begin the duel. Five against two. I try to focus only on action and reaction. Send a curse, block a curse. Aim. Send. Block.

Then it happens again. Impossibly.

Ron. He twists in the air as a green jet grazes his chin mid-dodge. He falls to the ground.

I stop. There is nothing. Nothing in the world.

My sister is dead.

My brother is dead.

My best friends are dead.

The only word I can think of is "no". That's all I have to offer. A simple "no". As if thinking the word will make it so.

So I scream it at the top of the lungs. A vanquished, strangled cry. Sobs rack through my lungs as I stand there, not knowing what to do. Ropes twist around my torso and bind me in place, although I am already frozen. My wand is knocked from my hand.

"The Dark Lord wishes to speak to you," one of the Death Eaters leers.

They hover me above them in a victory march, and they make their way out of Hogsmeade.

We are going to Hogwarts.

My now broken home.

I am going to die.

I curse myself for being born in the summer. To parents who defied the Dark Lord thrice. I curse myself for having magical blood.

I curse myself for dragging_ them_ along.

I am going to die now.

The cup rests against my side as I dangle resignedly in the air, a faithful reminder of my blind heroic mission.


	13. Chapter 12

**George Weasley POV**

My eyes open wide in shock as I see him glide towards me.

Harry Potter.

A ghost.

His now gray eyes are pained and tormented, and there is a telltale look of sadness etched into the planes of his face.

"What? How?" I splutter, stumbling over my words.

"I died. _He_ killed me." He speaks simply and sadly.

"Oh no… I'm so sorry…" I beg.

"Ron and Hermione, too."

A wave of grief washes over me, and I can plainly see now how selfish I have been. What would Fred say? What _will _Fred think of me?

Harry, voice strangled with grief, rushes on.

"George… there's a spare wand in the cottage, and a broomstick. Summon them, and _fix this_! I don't know exactly what happened, but I know that you came back in time. I saw it when I died. You have the Time-Turner. You're our only hope of defeating him now. You have to fix this!"

I feel a slight relief at the fact that he doesn't understand that this is entirely my fault. So I nod, trying to convey how sorry I am with my eyes. I killed my baby brother. I killed the girl he loved. I killed the wizarding world's only hope of destroying Voldemort.

I pull the Time-Turner out from underneath my shirt. I try to rewind time, desperately trying to force the golden hoops backwards, but they won't move. "_Time rewound twice binds fate in place"_ the prophecy has come back to bite me in the ass.

"No, no!" Harry's voice presses. "Go straight forwards…to the time you found the Time-Turner. That's the only way out of this! You found the Time-Turner at 4:30 in the morning tomorrow, so seven turns should do it… You're the only one who can turn it. You're the only one who can fix this, George! If anyone else turned it, the time frame wouldn't be the same…"

"How do you know all this?" I ask, dumbfounded.

"A wise old man at King's Cross told me… he also told me to tell you… to tell you that to save half of yourself you must destroy the whole… whatever that means…" He smiles sadly as he says this, then regains his sense of urgency. "Do it now! Quick!"

So I turn the golden hoops. Turn after turn until the sand grains start to quiver as I fall forwards in time. I can hear an afterthought of his voice follow me, and his voice becomes fainter and fainter until his final instructions vanish into turning time.

It's almost dawn at Shell Cottage. My disoriented feet stumble clumsily through the sand as I make my way to the Cottage. I sneak back in through the window, and blunder around, summoning the wand and the broom. I scramble back out the window and into the creeping dawn, mount the broom and kick off. The rush of air hitting my face wakes me up slightly, and I lean forwards into the room, flying as fast as I can over the countryside. I control my racing, twinless thoughts by focusing all my energy on gripping the broomstick and flying in the proper direction.

I know what I need to do. I am going to find myself before I go back in time, and fix this. My sense of time is completely backwards and disrupted, but I am fairly sure that I still exist in this time, in this world. I race towards the castle, feeling strange up here in the air without my twin brother.

After dozens of minutes that resemble hours, I finally see the Hogwarts grounds laid out before me. I have one shot at this. One shot. So I hold on tight to the broom and the foreign wand as I hurtle over the castle walls.

Nothing happens.

I am no blasted backwards or repelled in any way. And now I realize why. It's because I don't exist! This George that is _me _right now isn't the George Weasley that exists in this time. _Ha!_

My mental joy is stopped short by the sight of the castle. Gaping holes in the walls, towers reduced to rubble, blood and ash-stained grass, and patches of dead grass from killing curses that failed to hit their targets.

I speed pointedly towards Dumbledore's office window, finding reassurance in the fact that I am in a time without Voldemort. I don't let myself think of Fred. At least, I think I don't. The echo of his absence is still loud in my head as I fly through the open window in the sparkling dawn light.

I see my past… future…self, reaching out to touch the Time-Turner as my own feet touch the floor and I dismount the broom.

Harry's ghostly voice plays itself over again in my head instantly… "_Destroy the whole"_…

And strangely, I act without thought, without reason, without consiousness.

My lips move and my voice carries across the huge room. I don't know what curse I yell out. In that instant, I see Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes smile down at me from his portrait as he nods. The strange wand in my hand twitches and a jet of green light shoots towards my other face.

I fall dead to the floor. The he who was me. Dead.

My…his hand grazes the Time-Turner on the table as he falls, and I feel a strange sensation on my neck. My own Time-Turner becomes ash that dusts my body, the way my wand had.

The George on the floor vanishes in that moment, before I can draw breath.

His wand is left behind. My wand?

I drop the foreign wand in shock and distaste. I walk over and up the familiar wand. It warms in my hand, and a light imaginary breeze tickles my red hair.

The clotted, scabby cuts on my hands re-open, and fresh blood drips onto the floor. The jumper I had left in the trash at the Leaky Cauldron re-appears on my body, covering the huge "F" on my chest. Rockwood's bloodstains fade from my shoes. The sand on the hem of my jeans disappears.

Tears stain my cheeks.

And reality hits me for the hundredth time in this day that has been a thousand days. I curse the simplicity of fixing what I broke. I curse my haste. I curse everything that I have done, and everything I haven't.

Trelawney's misty voice cuts into my thoughts like a knife.

_"And on this night there shall be three_

_One shall perish and another be the cause_

_The third shall mourn all there ever was..."_

Three! My eyes open in amazement at the double prophecy. One shall perish… past me… and another be the cause… well, I was the cause. Now the third… who will mourn? I am mourning, but I am not also the third… I can't be…

A piercing headache invades my mind and my head hits the cold ground. The dawn fades as my world goes black.


	14. Chapter 13

My eyes open.

I lift my head.

My eyes focus first on the Time-Turner perched a few feet above me on the table.

Awaking from my stupor, I remember everything.

I hastily check my pockets, where I had tucked Harry's Cloak away all those hours ago, and happily find that it is gone.

I pick myself up and stumble out into the wreckage of the Giant Eagle. His broken stone body is an indication of the battle that was.

The battle that had to be.

And the lives that it cost.

I walk back into the Headmaster's study, and look at the Time-Turner out of the corner of my eye.

I hate how I failed.

I deserve to die.

_That's just it!_

I.

Deserve.

To.

Die.

My hungry, disdainful eyes lock on that powerful golden abomination of magic, and I can't look away.

I will die for him.

If I can't save him any other way, I will die for him.

And if he ever found out what I have done, what I have destroyed… he'd hate me anyways.

So why not?

I greedily pick up the instrument a second time, satisfied that I won't be coming back.

I turn the hoops carefully.

I fall backwards happily as the sand twists.

I run into the new chaos raging outside the study.

I run towards _him._ The half that is my whole.

I run towards the place where he will not be killed. The place where _I_ will be killed.

I run and run and run.

I reach that spot with perfect timing.

I grab Fred and tow him out of harm's way, pushing him to the ground.

The world around us explodes.

Fred reaches out at the last possible moment and grabs on to me.

It's all over.

We talk without voices in the split-second darkness as we are thrown into the black magic of the air.

"_I won't let you die for me." Fred says._

"_I won't live without you." I echo back at him._

"_I won't live without you," his perfectly mirrored voice mocks my helplessness._

"_I'm going to save you," my voice is desperate._

"_No."_

"_What?"_

"_I remember what you said to me in the shop, and I know what you did. I thought I dreamt it. But it was... a real nightmare."_

_A pause. _

_Then he says that he forgives me. I say I'm sorry in broken sobs until the darkness consumes us. Neither of us feels our bodies hit the ground._

I turn to ash in the air. The last known Time-Turner in the magical world smashes on the ground, and the timeless sand mixes in with my ashes.

Forge is gone. Gred is no more.

The third is left behind.

George Weasley, mourning all there ever was.


	15. Chapter 14

**Percy Weasley POV**

It's been twenty-six and three-quarter hours since Fred died.

I've been counting relentlessly.

I walk over to the Quidditch pitch in the midnight moonlight now, looking for George. There's something I need to give him. It's an old worn-out newspaper clipping that I've kept in my pocket since I first saw it, years ago. I pull it out with shaky hands and unfold the creased photograph, and look at it under the light from my wand.

Fred and George smile and wave and wink and shove each other playfully, wearing matching dragonskin robes. It's from a small article in the Prophet, the day they opened their shop.

I tear my eyes away from it and tuck it away carefully as I climb into the stands. I look down on the grassy pitch, and see two figures standing in the center. I squint my eyes in the darkness. One, shoulders slumped in grief, is my red-haired and freckled brother. George. The other I recognize as Angelina Johnson, her dark skin glowing in the moonlight.

I extinguish the light from my wand and walk back to the castle, knowing that George is quite taken care of.

I let myself cry out here in the darkness, knowing nobody can see me.

I bow my head as I walk on in agony, allowing the guilt to consume me.

I'll give George the picture in the morning, after I've memorized Fred's face.

I pause and look up at the crescent moon, and wonder if Fred is looking at it, too.

**Fred Weasley POV**

I am dead, but I have never been more alive. I feel the cool night air enter my lungs and I feel the blood course through my warm body.

I am standing in a dark forest. I know this forest. George and I used to come here as children. Our house is yards from here. I walk through the familiar trees and wind my way home.

I step out of the forest and into the moonlight. The Burrow is sketched into the night, soft like charcoal and warm like the fire that lights the windows.

I pause and look up at the smiling crescent moon.

Everything is going to be alright.


	16. Chapter 15

2 days later...

**'Present' George Weasley POV**

I solemnly swear…

That I will not cry when we lay him to rest tonight.

That I'll light millions of his favorite fireworks to outshine the starlight.

To name my first child in his honor. Some poor girl named "Fred"… he'd have a laugh at that.

To take care of Mum; I won't let her get too sad, I won't let her cry for too long.

To keep on pestering Percy.

That someday, I'll have white hair and wrinkly skin, so that he could see what he would have looked like.

To keep the joke shop up and running.

That I won't lock myself in our… my room tonight to avoid everyone wishing to offer condolences.

That I won't stumble over too many words when I eulogize him tonight.

To take care of Angelina for him, and to make sure she knows how much he loved her.

To make sure Ron stays terrified of spiders.

To make sure that Ginny never loses her fierceness, a fierceness that she'd gotten from him…from us.

That he's still the better-looking one.

That I am always going to be half of a whole.

But most of all, I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.


	17. Chapter 16

67 years later…

A man lies on an old, run-down bed. He is old and sick and tired. The curtains are drawn in the room. His wife is downstairs fetching him some tea. His eldest child, his son, is taking care of him. The man notices that his child is balding slightly, and that his rough skin is becoming wrinkled. This is the way it is meant to be. Laugh lines etched into his son's face over the years, as they should have been in his namesake's.

The man's son looks at him and smiles kindly.

He reaches into his bag and pulls something out. An extendable ear. _Ha!_

The old man reaches out for it, laughing and coughing.

His fingers close around the treasured invention. His breath escapes his lips. His eyes are wide open.

He dies laughing.


	18. Epilogue: Outrun the Sun

I am spinning, faster and faster. The world starts to turn blindingly white. My son's image fades from before my eyes, and I realize what is happening.

I am dying.

Is it terrible that the first word that comes to mind is "_Finally..."_ ? Does that make me a bad husband, and an even worse father? That I am "_finally" _dying after years of wishing and waiting? But also, after years of being surrounded with love and support. After years of the laughter of children and grandchildren alike.

I love my family, I love my children. I love my wife.

But life as a twinless twin is no life at all. A cursed life. A half-life.

I close my eyes as I spin faster and faster into the blinding brightness of my death.

Suddenly, inexplicably, I am standing. I open my eyes, unafraid. I am in a beautiful green forest. Young trees and green moss and little blue birds surround me. Sunlight seeps in through the tree cover, casting a soft yellow-green light on everything. I can smell the familiar country air.

I take a step, and realize that I am young. My limbs move freely, and I look down at my hands and see that my pale skin is smooth. I am seventeen. I reach up the side of my face and touch the place where my ear had been cursed off. I find that it has been re-attached.

The sound of twigs snapping on the forest floor grabs my attention, so I look in the direction of the noise. Someone approaches. When he steps into the sunlight, I grin. Fred. The one I've been waiting decades for.

We walk towards each other, mirror images once more. We throw our arms out around each other's shoulders in a familiar way and march through the forest, laughing and full of joy. Tears sparkle in my eyes but do not fall.

He leads me, although he walks beside me. This is as it should be. Just like when we took our first steps. Fred had stood up first, and instead of being shocked and excited like other children, he looked down at me. He waited for me to stand up, too. As soon as I got my tiny feet firmly planted on the ground, we started walking around as quickly as our little legs would carry us. Mum had a picture framed in a hallway in which this scene would act out over and over again in black and white, forever an echo of the nature of our twinship.

The trees become scarce as we approach the edge of the forest, and I can see the Burrow. Home.

Fred speaks.

"We've been waiting for you a long time. Mum's been losing it, waiting for you."

I laugh and say, "And let me guess… Percy's been -"

"Shining up his Prefect badge, yes."

We laugh together, and it's as if we haven't spent a half-century apart. All the bad memories of the decades without him are washed away as we laugh, and as I realize that we get to stay here forever, together. In this perfect world that should have been.

We arrive at the front door, and when we step into the kitchen, whatever conversation had been going on before ceased. I see them. My family. Everyone is frozen at the age they were happiest.

I see Bill and Fleur, sitting together in an armchair. They are in their fifties. Mr. and Mrs. Delacour stand near them, wrinkled and white-haired.

I see Tonks and Lupin, who might have stopped by for a visit. They are standing by the kitchen window holding hands. They are the exact age they were when they died.

Percy is in his late thirties, and he stands proud and tall by the stairs, an arm around his wife, Audrey.

I even see Dobby. The free elf is sitting happily on the floor in a heap of clothing that Mum had obviously knitted for him.

I see Charlie; twenty-something and as burned as ever, sitting next to Mum and Dad at the kitchen table.

Dad is forty-something and beaming, holding Mum's hand. She's the same age as him, the age she was when all her children were alive. She's smiling just as widely as Dad, but with tears in her eyes.

Mum runs up to us, and hugs both of us tightly, then looks at me and starts to say "George…"

I interrupt her, suppressing a grin.

"I'm Fred! He's George! Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother…"

"Sorry, Fred dear…" she apologizes.

"Only joking, I am Geroge."

And everyone clustered around in the small kitchen of the Burrow bursts into laughter, and some discretely wipe tears from their eyes.

For any stranger looking in, this scene would look completely mental.

For all of us in that small room, it is long-awaited perfection.

All is well.

_And so…Fred and I look forward to ages and ages of running our joke shop in the Diagon Alley of…the afterlife? Whatever this place is. He looks forward to meeting my children. We look forward to tormenting Ron when he gets here. We look forward to giving Harry and Ginny a Howarts toilet seat. We look forward to giving Hermione another punching telescope. We look forward to Christmas jumpers. We look forward to new inventions. We look forward together, at the endless possibilities of future pranks. _

_We look forward, not back. Because the past is the past. It can't be changed. It can't be undone._

_This is the part where I outrun the sun. _


	19. Final Author's Note

**Author's Note:**

**First of all: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Thank you x 10000! And thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, it was really motivation to keep up the writing and not just make it some one-shot.**

**Now, let's get down to business… there might be some confusion here, I know I definitely confused myself writing it. I thought so much about it that I got headaches. So, all in all, George completely lost his mind in the end, trying to reverse Fred's death. I'm a terrible person for doing that, but I really wanted George to be okay. So one George lost his mind and died, and the other George, the "present" George, lived on. He was obviously terribly sad, but he never found the Time-Turner because it was destroyed by the other George. God, this is confusing. So George could never go back and lose his mind messing with time. **

**Now, I can understand why some people might not be thrilled by the ending. I wish Fred could have come back, but it was impossible. JKR had him killed for a reason, and as terrible as that is, it has to stay that way.**

**This story was more about accepting Fred's death than about trying to change it. This might sound insane, but it really helped me accept that Fred is really dead, and he's not coming back. Rest assured, though, he and George are living happily ever after in that strange awesome afterlife, so there's no need to be too sad.**

**I had lots of fun writing this fic, and I think that JKR is so awesome for writing the Harry Potter series, and for inspiring me and other people on this website to write little stories of their own.**

**Fred and George were my two favorite characters in the whole series, and I kind of lost it when Fred died in the book. I hit the book, I threw the book, I kicked the book, and then I picked it back up and kept on reading, hoping that Harry would bring him back. After all, he had become 'Master of Death' (possessing the three Hallows). But that never happened, and I felt very sad. So I wrote this, and realized after I started writing that Fred needed to die in the end. It had to happen, because it would be too far-fetched for the Weasley family to leave the war unscathed. _Why Fred?_ we all ask… _Why not Percy? _I think it's Fred because he was always the leader, you can tell in the books, and George is the softer twin. It's Fred because George is left behind with a lifetime of torment to mourn his brother. It's also because Fred and George would be the ones to eventually help heal everyone else with laughter, and with Fred gone, that immediate relief is impossible. It's awful and cruel, but that's war, and that's life.**

**So… thank you to everyone who read this and bore with me and the strange, confusing, possibly awful writing. And if I write any more Fred and George fics, I solemnly swear that they won't be depressing.**

**My mischief here is managed.**


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